


set a fire in me

by MissAtomicBomb (mrs_nerimon)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, No actual sex?, Oops, what's more high school than
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_nerimon/pseuds/MissAtomicBomb
Summary: She has to teach him how to kiss. Among other things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> me @ me: you wanna write something with a plot?  
> me @ me: ...... did you say porn?

She has to teach him to kiss.

Their first attempt is soft and sweet, all the tenderness and none of the teenage hormones. He presses his mouth to hers, lets it linger there for all of five seconds before he pulls back.

Jonathan, she realizes, has never played spin the bottle, or seven minutes in heaven at some silly junior high party. He’s likely never kissed anyone at all before this. Or if he has, it’s this same kind of kiss; a press of lips against lips, little more behind it.

And that’s nice, and sweet, and she knows he means it, but she’s seventeen now, not twelve.

So she shows him. How to open his mouth and how to use his tongue, how to hold her so they can press as much against each other as possible.

He’s always very careful with how he touches her. He lets his hands on her waist, or on her shoulders, but they never roam around.

Nancy might not have ever been popular in school, but she’s kissed a handful of boys. She’s slept with one. She has some knowledge of what she likes, what she wants.

Jonathan is a blank slate. He follows her lead blind; she could tell him to put on more clothes and stand in the corner of her room, and he’d do it gamely.

It’s exciting. Everything she does is appealing to him. Everything is new and fresh, makes him exhale her name in a way she’s never heard it before.

The first time she straddles his lap, pale blue outfit in the dark of his room, he looks up at her with wide rabbit eyes, hands tightening on her waist, almost unsure what comes next.

She loops an arm around his neck, watches him bite down on his lip as she settles. Her skirt’s hiked up around her lower thighs, and his eyes keep flitting to the curve of her knee, to her face, to his hand still gripping her.

She smiles down at him.

“Hi.” She lets a hand run down his chest, rest just over his heart, beating so fast she thinks she can almost feel it.

“Hi.” He repeats.

She leans forward, kisses him with a closed mouth. He opens her up, confident in that motion now, has his tongue trace her bottom lip.

His hand slides to her lower back, creeps under her shirt, and she wants the same feeling of those fingers on the rest of her.

Nancy pulls back and he’s chasing her, mindlessly, eyes still closed as he cranes his head after her. She gently presses on his chest, pushes distance between them. Tugs off her shirt, lets it fall down behind them.

Jonathan looks straight at her eyes, like he’s almost afraid to glance elsewhere.

She brushes a hand against the hem of his own t-shirt.

“You?” She asks, trying to make it sound as unlike a command as possible.

“Oh.” He mumbles, and he sits there for a long moment, until his brain processes the word. “ _Oh_.”

He’s a flurry of harsh movements, nearly gets her in the chest with his elbow, but then his shirt falls beside hers, dangling off the bed, and suddenly he’s avoiding her gaze.

He looks- Good. Lanky, pale. Boyish.

Nancy smiles, leans in until they’re centimeters apart. Bypasses his mouth, slides kisses across the angles of his face, halfway down his neck. His arms slips around her again, pulling her so their hips meet, and it’s got to be all instinct at this point.

She bites at his skin, gentle, and he answers with a moan that almost sounds like her name.

They return to kissing; sloppy, simpler than it was before. Feeling over technique, the tug of his hair between her fingers, the feeling of the callouses on his right hand. She has to prep him, pull his hand up until it’s cupping her breast. His fingers press in experimentally, palm sliding across the fabric of her bra.

_Something, anything, touch me, touch me._

As time slowly pushes past them she feels him, hard against her inner thigh. She pushes closer into the kiss, masks the slide of her hand between them until she touches him.

Jonathan pulls away with a suction noise, piercing gaze with his hair slicked to his temples. He looks as if he wants to say something, but the words don’t quite come.

Nancy moves her free hand to his chest, settles over his heart again.

“Okay?”

He nods almost too quickly.

“Ye-Yeah.”

Her right hand is still cupping him, barely, over the denim. He flicks his eyes down to it, up to her, then somewhere beyond them.

“Can I keep-“

“ _Yeah_.” He’s red in the cheeks but he’s not embarrassed, it seems. Just hot.

She is too. Her chest is growing red, she can feel it creep up her neck. They’re both slick with sweat, warm skin tight on warm skin.

Nancy presses her forehead to his shoulder, palms him through his jeans. He lets out short breaths, a quiet moan muffled by placing his lips to the side of her head.

“Jonathan?” She whispers to his chest, feels him roll his head away from her.

“ _Jesus."_

She’s not even touching him, her fingers aren’t on his skin, but he’s so-

 _Easy_. Soft and gentle and pliable underneath her hands.

She finds, suddenly, that she wants everything. She wants to take him inside her and watch him fall apart beneath her, hands gripping her waist, voicing her name.

Her fingers find the zipper, and she leans back, presses a quick kiss to his mouth before whispering _‘Can I?’_ against his lips.

Jonathan nods, once.

The room is so silent she can hear both of their breathing, the sound of zipper as she pulls it down, helps rid him of the barrier.

It’s all terribly cliche, isn’t it? It’s Friday night pulp romance. She can see the both of them, silhouetted again the dark window, and it’s raining because _of course it is_ , and as she lays him down he tells her _he’s always loved her, always her, always him._

But Jonathan of real life -not Jonathan of her hardback fantasy- seems incapable of speech as she trails a pointer finger down his cock.

He buries his head in her neck and breathes out, harsh. His lips brush her shoulder accidentally and she feels the tingle along her spine.

She waits, long seconds, before he reemerges, his eyes blown wide, mouth swollen and pink and beautiful.

She grips him more firmly. His skin is so soft, velvet and gentle in her palm. She runs her finger over the head, watches his face.

Jonathan screws his eyes shut, takes rapid breaths.

“We can stop.” She says, because that’s what happens in moments like this. Only she doesn’t want to, not one bit, and she hopes, prays, he feels the same.

He lets out a gasp, or maybe it’s a moan.

“Don’t.” He whispers, and Nancy recoils.

She’s pulling her hand away when he grabs her wrist, eyes wide.

“No, I mean- Don’t. Stop.”

He sounds like he can’t get out full sentences, can’t go beyond asking, begging, _please_. _Don’t_.

She’s merciful. She’ll give him what he wants.

“Lay down.” She whispers, and he nearly scrambles off the bed as he follows.

When he settles he’s looking up at her, searching for the answer to a question he hasn’t asked.

She takes him in her hand again. She’s not done this in a while, but it’s one of those things you don’t _really_ forget, right?

She alternates; short, slow strokes. Hears the catch in his breath. And then one long exploration, searching fingers, her other hand coming to pet just above his cock, flatly spreading across his skin.

His hips jerk up, once, and then he seems to clamp down control over his whole body. He draws in a long breath, squeezes a fist in the blankets.

“You don’t have to-“ Nancy cuts herself off, tries to think of the best way to phrase this without putting him off. “Hold back.”

Jonathan’s careful with his emotions, he shoves them deep down and pretends they’re not there most of the time. Covers them up with forced blank expressions so they can’t be used to hurt him. And he’s trying to do that here, but the fact that he’s a teenage boy is winning, at the moment.

He bites down on his lip but the moan comes out anyway, and he turns his head away from her, closes his eyes tight.

“Tell me.” She offers, fingers slipping against the softest of his skin. “Good?”

“ _Yes_.” It’s the most confident she’s ever heard him. “Yes, good.”

She feels a smile growing. No one else, she thinks suddenly, has seen him like this.

Virginity isn’t as important as she once thought it was. It doesn’t make you a different person, better or worse or anything. But a deep part of her is selfishly glad that she’s the one who gets him this way. Spread out, bare, hers for the taking.

He’s whispering her name like it’s the only thing left in the world, like if he says it enough times it’ll just push him over.

And it might be a power trip, to see him squirm like this. But she’s not _cruel_.

She twists her wrist, runs a thumb across the head, and his hips buck up against her as he loses it.

His hands curl in the blankets, and his torso arches off the bed. She stills, watches as he comes back into himself. His chest shakes with each breath, half his face turned away from her, pressing into the covers.

Nancy adjusts herself on the bed, ignores the shocks that run up her insides. Wipes her hand, rather gracelessly, on his comforter.

When he opens his eyes, he’s looking up at her with something akin to admiration, only magnified ten fold.

Nancy’s not sure what to say next, but for once, he seems to find the words.

“Wow.” He pushes himself up until he’s sitting there, naked, in front of her, and she’s still got her school shoes on, and she didn’t even _do_ anything but she’s breathing fast, and-

Jonathan kisses her, hard. Not aggressive, but- _sure_.

“You’re incredible.” He says when he breaks it, and his cheeks are still red. “Nancy- _Incredible_.”

He drops his eyes to her lap, then frowns suddenly.

“Not just- not just for that.” His embarrassment grows, he shakes his head so quick. “All the time. I mean- Just- Always.”

_Always her, always him._

“Thank you.” She says, because nothing else seems capable of shutting him up at the moment.

He gives her a sheepish smile. _Movies_ say guys get sleepy after, but maybe that’s just sex. Because Jonathan’s like an excited puppy yapping around her, _thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you, I love you-_

He leans forward. But it’s not a kiss, it’s his forehead against hers, resting, gentle.

“And- you?” He whispers, his breath hitting her mouth. He reaches for her, stilted motion, fingers brushing the edge of her waistband. “You?”

He’s asking permission; _Can I touch you, can I do that to you, can I see you like you’ve seen me?_

Nancy nods.

His hand flies back, and she wonders if he’s too unsure to start, but then she feels fingers creep below the hem of her skirt.

Under, not over. She can work with that.

He slides his hands up her thighs, spreads his palms to cover her hips.

She’s thinking he must be nervous, doesn’t quite know how to approach it, when he opens his mouth.

“Lay down?” He lets his hands slide down her thighs, to her knees, then back in quick succession.

“Hm?” She rises up on her knees, the fabric of her skirt falling over his wrist.

“Lay down?” He asks again, rocks back onto his own heels.

She almost says ‘ _No, I like the angle better’_ , but he’s so obedient to her. She can give in. Let him explore for once.

Nancy leans back against his pillow, lets her body sink into the bed. Her thighs are sore from holding herself above him, she knows they’ll ache tomorrow morning.

Her skirt’s pushed up to her waist, his hands still rubbing at her thighs. It’s warm, comforting. She can feel his breath on her legs, but he’s not _touching_ her yet.

It’s not until Jonathan presses an open kiss to her inner thigh that she realizes what he’s going for here.

“Oh!” She must sound more shocked than surprised, because he pops up in an instant, looks worried.

“Nancy?”

“I just didn’t, um-“

“Is this okay?”

“I thought-“

“I can stop.”

They keep talking over each other, pausing for chunks of time and then starting in at the same time. It’s horribly awkward, and her neck begins to cramp from straining up to look at him, perched over her, licking at his lips.

Her stomach jolts. Heat forming again, tight in her belly. Nancy raises her voice.

“It’s okay.” The words float between them, settling on her bare stomach. She didn’t do this for him, so it’s not a quid-pro-quo, _might as well_ kind of thing. “If you want to-“

“I do.” He jumps in, fingers spreading over the sharp point of her hip. He sounds like he’s never wanted anything more.

Nancy drops back down. In her fantasy novel, he’s already eating her out. Lovers don’t talk in fantasies, they just know each other so well, so clearly.

But lovers in reality, teenage lovers with unfamiliar bodies, stumble over their words, and sometimes poke each other in the ribs, and knock teeth. And it’s still good. Still right. Still-

 _Oh_.


End file.
